Lamb in A Lion's Fur
by Calliope Hellice
Summary: Jericho meets his match in a woman who works at Hooters in Florida--fluffiness and romance and angst.


Lamb in a Lion's Fur  
  
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Part 1: Bar Fights  
  
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It was another of those nights. Siobhean was finished waitressing at the bar, so she slid her hip pouch off, slipping the tips into her pocket, and the rest of the cash into the cash register behind the bar. She moved to the other side, hopping onto a bar stool, running a tired hand through her dark curls.  
  
"Pint of Rickards," she ordered from Anna, the bartender. The blonde slid it down the bar to her.  
  
"On me," she called with a grin, waving a twenty she had gotten as a tip from a regular. Siobhean smiled at her, lifting her pint in acknowledgement.  
  
"Hey, cutie."  
  
She groaned, rolling her eyes. It was that guy that had kept hitting on her through the night. She looked at him, eyeing his bulging beer belly and sweaty hair.  
  
"Listen, I've told you-" she began, but he shushed her with a finger to her lips.  
  
"Your mouth says no, but your body says yes," he leered at her, staring down the front of her shirt.  
  
"Ew, get lost creep," she slapped his hand away, going to stand, but he grabbed her arm.  
  
"You're not going anywhere, sweetie," he growled, his face flushed with drunkeness and anger. "You're gonna stay right here with me."  
  
"You wish, jerk off," Siobhean grabbed his wrist between her thumb and forefinger, pressing on the tender bones, then rotating her arm to apply the greates pressure until he let go of her other arm. "Now, you're gonna leave me alone-"  
  
Her remark was cut off by his slap across her face. "Bitch-you're just a tease."  
  
"Did I just see you slap a woman?" the voice was quiet, slightly husky.  
  
Siobhean looked behind the greasy, beer bellied man, to see a young man, not even six foot, but broad shouldered, standing there. His mouth was curled into a smile, but his blue eyes were dark.  
  
"Why don't you mind your own business, pretty boy?" the man growled.  
  
"Pretty boy?" the young man smiled, preening a little, running a hand over his blond poneytail. Then he stood up straight, staring the man eye to eye. "Try again, jackass. The name is Y2J, and you'd better remember that." Then he slammed a fist into the man's face, knocking him to the floor.  
  
Siobhean stared at him in shock. "What the hell are you doing?" she yelled at him, angry that he'd interfered in her matters. "I can take care of myself."  
  
"Didn't look like it," he replied, watching as the security guards picked greasy man up, taking him out of the bar.  
  
"I had everything under control," she ground through clenched teeth. "There was no need for that."  
  
"He hit you!" his voice rose slightly, nostrils flaring.  
  
"No kidding!" Siobhean yelled back, grabbing her coat. "I'm out of here." She stomped towards the exit, leaving without saying goodbye to any of her coworkers. Stepping into the humid air, she wondered why she even bothered bringing a coat anywhere in Tampa.  
  
'Old habits die hard,' she thought. It was October. At home, the leaves would be changing, the air would be cool, and Harvest festivals would be in full swing. In Tampa, pumpkins had to be bought from the grocery store, leaves were still green, and it was still warm and humid.  
  
Sweat quickly gathered on her exposed skin, making her sticky and uncomfortable. She yearned for a dip in the ocean, but it was dark, and swimming at night scared her to death.  
  
"Hang on," that familiar voice called behind her. "Wait a second."  
  
"Leave me alone," Siobhean called over her shoulder. Then his hand was on her shoulder, and turning her to face him.  
  
"Listen, I'm sorry," his blue eyes looked sincere. "I was a jerk-I thought I was helping, but obviously, I was wrong."  
  
Siobhean bristled. "What do you want?"  
  
He looked at her like she had two heads. "To apologize."  
  
"No, that's not all," she was looking at him skeptically. "Guys don't do things to be nice, here. They do things with alterior motives."  
  
"I wanted to apologize, because I obviously upset you," he looked at her earnestly, his voice sincere.  
  
Siobhean eyed him. He wasn't much taller than her, and if worse came to worse, she could take him down. "Fine, apology accepted." She rolled her eyes. "Can I go, now?"  
  
"Maybe," a smile played over his mouth. "Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night? As an extension of my apology?"  
  
She sighed. She knew there was a catch. "So are you going to let me leave if I say no?" Her expression was challenging, daring him to say yes.  
  
"You're free to leave," his hand left her shoulder. "I just wanted to take you to dinner."  
  
"Because of this?" Siobhean gestured to her minimal clothing, the uniform for 'Hooters', the bar she worked in. Short shorts and a low cut, tight fitting T-shirt. It got her many propositions, but none from nice men who wanted to date her for her.  
  
He shook his head, looking into her eyes. "Because you look like you could've kicked that guy's ass, or my ass for that matter, and I'd like to know why that is."  
  
She smiled. He was original at least. "Fine. I'll meet you at O'Ryans at seven o'clock tomorrow night. It's Dutch." Then she turned, walking towards her apartment building.  
  
Chris watched her in awe. She was about five feet nine inches tall, her body firm but soft in all the right places. The 'Hooters' outfit didn't look slutty on her, instead, it accentuated her long, toned legs, her flat and muscled stomach, and her strong arms. It made her look like a prowling jungle cat.  
  
The expanse of pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, her long dark auburn curls formed a halo around her head in the dim light. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. But that wasn't why Chris asked her out. It was the fire in her eyes when that guy hit her. He hadn't intervened for her sake, he intervened for the guy's sake. At that moment, she looked like she would kill him with her bare hands, and Chris very much doubted she couldn't.  
  
But how could he tell her that? "Um, but miss, you looked like a murderous psycho, so I was trying to save you from a Murder One charge"? He doubted that would go over well.  
  
So instead, he interefered, giving the guy his best Y2J attitude. Chris enjoyed being able to switch from his WWF character to the real him and back again with ease. Y2J was the guy who said things you wished you had the guts to say.  
  
Then it dawned on him he didn't get her name. "Damn," he said to himself, turning and walking back to the bar. "Tomorrow, then." 


End file.
